


Syllables

by theplotholesmademedoit



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crying, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex, Sickfic, Space Husbands, bondmates, but it fulfills the requirements, cuddling of course, get you h/c fix here, married, not technically affiliated with T'hy'la big bang, seriously, this story exists because I thought Jim needed a hug, touches of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplotholesmademedoit/pseuds/theplotholesmademedoit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never thought I'd hear you call me that again."</p><p>The whales are saved, the planet's in one piece and they're warping back to Earth as a sardine can of rebel heroes with a shiny ribbon on top.</p><p>But with grief and the pain of a broken bond, Jim is falling apart. </p><p>or</p><p>Sometimes the mighty Captain Kirk just needs his space husband to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syllables

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally intended this to be 1000 words, but it grew mutant brain babies of hurt/comfortness. ENJOY!
> 
> (Thank you my lovely beta SpazzyNinjaFish)

Jim sits on the bed in his quarters, balancing his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. He lets his hair drip, puddling in the creases on his knuckles and stinging his fingers colder than they already were.

_“I swear he’s twice a goddamn computer as he was before. I mean, he didn't even try to argue with me, it was just….”_

_With a sideways twitch of his eyes to Jim, Bones trailed off. He placed the hand that wasn’t spread on the rough angled Klingon ship on Jim’s shoulder, squeezing the muscle through the red canvas of his uniform._

_“Jim,” he said, with concern thick as tar in his voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn't be complaining about him, I know how hard this is for you.”_

_‘Hard’ was an understatement. He didn’t know the half of it._

_“I’m fine, Bones.”_

_Jim slid his arms into a cross over his chest, pinkie fiddling with the insignia on his belt. He ground his teeth against the memories of the nights since Spock died, of the sleep he hadn't gotten in the empty bed, of the meals he hadn't eaten, too busy staring at the chair across the table._

_“Horseshit. I’ve never seen two people more stupidly crazy about eachother than you and Spock were. Christ, I had his katra in my head, I know what it was like. More than I wanted to, mind you. If I have one more nightmare about that Vulcan sticking his giant green … Anyways that broken bond’s gotta be killing you. And not just that, you two idiots were like two halves of the same whole and you lost him, but when you got him back he wasn’t-”_

_“He’s alive, nothing else matters. As you said, we ‘were’ in love. He doesn’t even remember me now. We’ve got whales to find, drop it.”_

_“But-”_

_“Drop it.”_

_He peeled himself off the wall and walked away._

Jim puffs out a sigh and digs his fingers hard into his temples in a way that’s a little too painful to be considered a message.

He’s freezing. The cotton sleeves of his shirt are still soaked through, and they twist in wet lines down his goose bumped skin. He should really get up, go change into something dry. Check in on the bridge.

But his head hurts. His mind feels like scissors are running through it, the blades opening and closing with each pulse. The stump of their bond has been bleeding since Spock’s death and it only seems to be getting worse, as if it senses its other half and throbs to be healed.

He very nearly whimpered when Spock had pulled him out of the water. The support of Spock’s grip on his back had almost been too much. Spots had danced around the corners of his vision as the pain of the broken bond spiked and then eased when the contact remained.

Sure, he was thrilled that they’d saved Earth, but that didn’t do anything for the fact that he craved to flush their bodies together, bury his face in Spock’s neck and stay there indefinitely.

Only he couldn’t. There was a flash of _his_ Spock in the Vulcan’s eyes when he tugged Jim back into the ocean. The way his wrist had locked around Jim’s neck and how he smiled while the splashes flew around them almost seemed like Spock remembered who he was and who Jim was to him.

Almost.

And that almost made everything so much worse.

He needs to get up. He takes one of his hands - which is trembling slightly, to his disgust -and bends it around the edge of the bed. There’s puddle forming on the comforter, he should really-

Two knocks clang from outside his door. There’s pause, and then a third knock, only a light metal tap this time.

“Come in,” Jim says, pushing himself off the bed. Standing is harder than he expected it to be and dizziness whirls in his stomach. By the time he gets his bearings the door has slid open.

The breath he was sucking in catches somewhere in his windpipe when he sees his visitor.

_Spock_. Straight backed, dry, beautiful and completely untouchable as ever.

“Admiral, I wished to inform you that…” Spock starts speaking but stops, running his eyes up and down Jim and watching saltwater drip onto the carpet from the hem of his sleeves, “Jim, you are still in your wet clothing, Why have you not removed it? You should do so now, it not healthy for you to remain as cold as you undoubtedly are.”

Jim’s heart beats lightning at the use of his first name. He hugs himself, but it only makes him colder and slightly nauseous.

“I’m fine Spock,” he says, amazed when he manages to sound somewhat normal, “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Spock steps forward and gently cups a hot hand around the side of Jim’s cheek. Jim flinches.

“Ashayam,” he whispers, “Please. You are shivering.”

Jim’s eyes blow wide. He whips around so his back faces his once bondmate, dislodging Spock’s hand as if it scalded him. More saltwater streaks down his face, but it’s not from the ocean this time.

Ashayam. Three simple syllables strung together into an ancient word. _Beloved._

“I…” his words are strangled silent with a choked noise, “I…”

Spock touches him again on his shoulder. Jim feels the heat of Spock’s thumb drag up his neck, brushing the arch of skin where his ear is stitched into his skull before it trails back down. He can’t see the room anymore, everything's blurry and the colors of the wall leak into the floor. 

 “Yes?” Spock prompts quietly.

 

 

 

“I never thought I’d hear you call me that again.”

And suddenly he’s not just shaking, he’s sobbing, so hard the walls of his throat burn and his lungs are on fire, but he’s colder than he ever was. But Spock’s hand on his shoulder becomes two arms on his waist that turn Jim around and press him impossibly close.

“Hush my T’hy’la, I am here.”

He shudders, too forcefully to remain standing, but Spock catches him and lowers him to the ground. Jim is so warm, so warm and safe crushed against this familiar body that it only makes him cry harder. He’s in Spock’s lap and there’s a hand curved around the back of his head that’s holding it to Spock’s chest as he gasps for air through the tears.

“My Jim, I am so sorry, sssshhhh, du dunginam-tor dotokaya, ssshhhh you are safe, you are safe,” Long fingers are stroking his temple, the crown of his skull, the top his forehead. An arm is curled very tightly over his back and it glides up and down his spine, taking the shocks from the jumping muscles in his shoulders blades and his straining ribs.

“I am here, K'hat'n'dlawa, I will not leave you again.”

He cries for Spock, for David, for himself.

He needs this. He needs this so badly every bit of him aches, so he burrows further into Spock, trembling and incoherent, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough, he clutches wildly at the back of Spock’s robes, he’s not sure he can breathe and-

Somehow Spock finds his psi points.

His mind floods with warmth he never thought he’d feel again. Distantly, he can hear his own sobs and Spock’s gentle murmurs in Vulcan, but the only thing he’s truly aware of is the overwhelming feeling of _Spock_.

The broken bond seethes and writhes painfully, but Spock reaches for it and so very carefully cradles to his own mind. He stretches in deep into his head, where there’s a matching tattered end. Like their initial bonding, the rest happens on its own.

The ends meet and then-

Bliss.

The throbbing is replaced with light that blooms over them, sealing every mental scar with puddy gold. They are joined again.

Jim is home.

_Where I shall keep you always, my heart._

  
_SpockIloveyougodImissedyousomuchSpockithurtsSpockSpockSpock,_ is all Jim manages to think.

 

 

 

Spock stays in his head, twinning their spirits together until Jim calms down, spent and not sure his tear ducts can actually produce more tears.

He lies there with his head wedged under Spock’s chin and all stretches of their minds and bodies knotted together. The ribbed sides of his throat are heavy and his eyelashes are sticky and all can taste is salt, but his breath only swings out a little more heavy than normal now. He’s much too busy being wrapped up in Spock to care.

Spock traces light lines with the tips of his nails down Jim’s arm one more time, then starts to pull out of the meld.

Jim does whimper this time, grasping frantically at Spock’s mental presence and yanking him back in.

_Please don’t leave._

Tingles of love and calm are pushed through their link.

_Hush Ashayam, hush. I could never leave you, especially not when you need me as you do now. I am only withdrawing from the meld enough to remove your wet clothes and take you to bed._

Jim relaxes, expecting Spock to help him unbutton and pull off. Instead, he grasps the collar of Jim’s shirt in one hand and pinches over his pants and under the elastic waist of his boxers with the other. Then with one neat moment of his wrists, he shreds all the clothing simultaneously.

Jim looks at the scraps of cotton now hanging half from his torso and half on the floor and at his Vulcan’s all too innocent expression.

Then he laughs until he hiccups.

“Do not forget to breathe Jim,” Spock says with forced seriousness, amusement evident it in the silent laughter quivering through their renewed bond.

He laughs himself to silence and rests back into Spock.

Jim sniffs rubs his cheek on Spock’s now wet robes, “Sorry about that,” he gestures to the splotch of fluids on Spock’s shoulder, “I had forgotten how much my nose runs when I cry, I’ll go get some tissues.”

Though he doesn’t feel even slightly inclined to move, he does anyway, trying to stand and untangle himself from Spock.

Spock is having precisely none of it.

Apparently Jim had also forgotten how menacingly strong his once again husband is, because he wriggles uselessly for a moment. A mere tightening of Spock’s arms renders him immobile.

“Spock,” Jim pants in exasperation.

Spock’s lips twitch up, “My Jim, you have nothing to be sorry for. I do not mind in the slightest, and you are not going anywhere,” he kisses the round tip of Jim’s nose, snot and all, “I will take care of thee.”

 

 

 

Spock expertly removes his robe without releasing Jim, folding it over his wrist and dropping it beside them. He pulls off his shirt off over pointed ears and balls it in his fist. His index and middle finger feather over Jim’s hairline and down to his chin before hooking under his jaw. The shirt is brought to Jim’s face.

Softly, Spock swipes it over the puffed flesh below his eyes, mopping every curve of Jim’s cheeks, above his upper, around his nose. When only invisible smears of salt are left on Jim’s skin, Spock puts down the shirt and lifts his robe so it crinkles into what looks like the wings of a great white bird. He shakes it once, tucks in around Jim and molds his mouth onto the dip above Jim’s eyebrows.

Jim smiles. It's that special one only Spock could ever coax out of him, the one curves up almost to his ears and makes his eyes crinkle into crescents.

He smashes them into a kiss. Spock is startled but quickly responds, teasing his tongue against Jim’s own and over his gums. Another thing he’d forgotten: how amazing this feels.

Spock tugs back, catching his teeth under Jim’s bottom lip. His dark eyes strike into Jim’s, finding them red and speckled with too many reflections. Water threatens to drip over the pink rims below the whites once more.

“You will ruin my handwork, Ashayam,” Spock says, slowly curving the back of his fingers over fresh tears, stopping them.

Jim chuckles rawly, rocking his head side to side, “It’s your fault for being so damn sweet, you know.”

“Sweet, Jim?”

Jim tweaks the tip of one of Spock’s ears.

“You know full well that adjective applies to you, mister.”

Spock raises an eyebrow.

“I shall neither confirm nor deny such a ludicrous statement.”

Spock is still clasping one side of his face and Jim sags into the hold, letting his eyes sink shut.

_I’m so tired, I could fall asleep right here._

“That will not be necessary.”

The next things he knows, he’s in in the air. Spock gently deposits him on the bed, kicking his pants off with a smile he only ever lets Jim see.

It’s been awhile since he’s seen Spock naked, and as exhausted as he his, he still marvels at the sight.

But he doesn’t get much of a chance to, since the green-tinted blocks of muscle he was ogling disappear under the sheet beside him.

Somehow, Spock manages to arrange them so Jim is lying more on his bondmate than the actaul bed. Jim crosses his fingers over Spock's ribs, feeling the thrum of his heart.

"I never thought I would get to fall asleep like this again either," he says talking in that quite way that dark damands.

Spock tightens his hold.

"You need not fear that again."

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

“103.2. Damn fool, I knew this would happen.”

Somewhere far away and fuzzy, Jim hears the whizz of a medical tricorder. He tries to crawl out of the dream like fever haze, but a warm hand carding through his hair lulls him back between the point of sleep and wakefulness.

“I fail to see how you could have predicted Jim would become ill.”

Spock’s voice is deep and soft. Jim clings to the sound.

“It wasn’t that hard. Ever since you had the gall to kick the bucket, this idiot has been burning the candle at both ends and letting all that pain eat him up inside. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t budge. Apparently I’m no substitute for his favorite pointy eared teddy bear.”

There is silence for a moment, but to Jim the word ‘teddy bear’ swims in and out of his head as if McCoy is speaking on a loop.

“What is your prognosis, doctor?” says Spock. Jim’s pretty sure he tries to smile; only half remembers to when a long thumb brushes temple.

“As far as I can tell, it’s just a fever, probably induced by a combination of stress and soaking in his wet clothes for an hour like a goddamn fish. We still have five days until we get back to Earth, and he should be fine in about three. Just make sure he stays warm and give him…”

The rest of the words buzz off into sparks behind Jim’s eyelids, and he tries to giggle, but this makes him start coughing. Spock’s hand spreads over his back in circles.

_Be easy, T’hy’la._

“....So you remember, Spock, who you were?”

Somehow Jim manages to tune back in, knowing this is important.

“Not entirely. There are minor details missing, gaps in my understanding of the timeline. But I remember the essence of who I once was...I remember learning to accept my humanity, and admit to emotion. And most importantly, I remember my feelings for Jim.”

Jim’s eyelashes fan over a knuckle that ghosts beneath them. As little sense reality is making to him right now, he’s aware of the absolute love sent over their bond through the touch. He deliriously grabs at the feeling finding, to his relief, it doesn't disappear as memories did after Spock's death, but only grows, surrounding him with too long absent affection.

 

 

 

“Finally. I beginning to think I’d never see you raise your eyebrow at me again,” Bones stops, suddenly serious, “And I was getting worried about Jim, he’s not...right without you. Take good care of him Spock. God knows he needs it.”

The mattress sinks where Spock sits down next to Jim, who half consciously rolls into him, mushing his face against the Vulcan’s leg. 

“You know I will, doctor,” Spock resumes stroking Jim’s hair, much to his delight, “For better or for worse, correct? I believe you were the ‘best man’ at both our Terran and Vulcan wedding celebrations. I suspect, of course, that you enjoyed this simply because it gave you two opportunities to embarrass Jim in your toast.”

“And you’re too logical to have been embarrassed, right? Not even when I showed them the holo of you sneaking into Jim’s biobed that time you got drunk on chocolate mi-”

“Perhaps this was not a wise choice in conversation on my part.”

Bones chuckles.

“It’s good to have you back, Spock.”’

“Indeed doctor. I find it is good to be back.”

 

                                                                     …

Jim’s pillow is poking him.

He’s rather fond of his pillow, it’s just the right temperature and the way it’s rubbing his back makes Jim feel especially cozy.

But right now, he’s finding the plastic tube it’s attempting to jab into his lips most annoying. He tries to swat it away, but his pillow effortlessly traps his arm on the bed.

“Ashayam, you must drink.”

Jim’s lips open and close with a quiet smack. It then occurs to him that his pillow is a little too hard to be a pillow, and pillows do not usually speak or move.

“Spock?” he croaks.

“Yes Jim, now drink.”

Jim obediently sucks, too tired and confused to fight. There’s a hiss, followed by the small prick of a hypo leaving his neck.

“Sleep now, my heart.”

And he lays back down against Spock’s chest, letting the clouds in his mind and the feel of Spock circled protectively around him steer him back into sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                              …

Fever dreams are not kind to one who has seen as much as Jim.

This time it isn’t just rushes of color and screams or starved corpses, but a hand.

The hand is in the Ta’al, stuck weakly to a thick sheet of glass. The image dissolves forward into Spock’s face, radiation burns sticking in moss-colored patches to his cheekbones.

“I have been and always shall be…”

Spock’s hand crumbles away into ligaments, then ash that swirls to the ground in a black sandstorm. The world turns a bleached white and Jim pounds on the only thing left in the universe; the wall of glass.

“Spock!” he screams, “Spock no!”

“Jim,” says the white abyss, “Dammit, Jim, wake up!”

Jim jerks up with a gasp. He can’t breathe. He claws at his throat, wheezing.

Bones' steady grip and blue eyes find him, “It’s ok kid, Spock had to take a call with command, you’re hobgoblin’s on his way, calm down Jim, breathe. Spock’s coming.”

But dead hand flashes in his retinas and Jim shakes his head frantically and tries to stop gasping.

Bones pushes a hypo spray into his neck, and drowsiness starts to creep over his fear, but he fights it,  _SpockSpockSpock_.

The doors swishes open and Spock runs through as soon as the gap is big enough to fit his frame, rushing to Jim.

He is swept into a crushing hug and cradled very tightly into Spock’s lap.

“I am here T’hy’la, ssshhh breathe. I am alive, you are safe, breathe my Jim, breathe,”

‘In and out’ gets easier when he’s doing it into the red and white of Spock’s uniform, and every time he breaths in, it’s with the smell of Spock.

He lets the drugs take him.

…

The next time he wakes up, it’s to the cold press of tiles on his bare legs and back.

He blinks awake, flecks of cold shower spray speckling under his eyebrows. Spock is naked and bent over, rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. 

 

 

 

“Spock?” he says, wincing at the rough catches in his voice and the pain in his throat.

Spock retrieves a bottle and turns to him. A slight smile tweaks the corners of his eyes as he steps under the now warm shower, streaks of water flowing down the straight lines of his black hair and snaking once they drip onto his forehead.

He kisses Jim with warm wet lips, and lays a mostly dry hand on his forehead.

“How are you feeling, K’diwa?”

Jim smiles and wriggles under the spray, sticking his chin on Spock’s shoulder. He twists his head to lick a drop that’s trickling down Spock’s atom’s apple, nibbling all the way up to under his chin.

“Better. Much better.”

_Insatiable human,_ Spock mock chides.

_Not my fault, sexy Vulcan._

The snap of a cap being opened pops over the patter of the water. Spock pools a thick yellow liquid in his palm and slides his hand down Jim’s back, digging smooth strokes into his stiff muscles.

It sends sleepy tingles down into his nerves, turning him into putty in Spock’s arms.

“Stop that, I was trying to seduce you. You’re going to make me fall asleep.”

Spock’s thumb rolls over his nipples, his other hand curling around Jim’s thigh.

“The juice of the Lytemera tree fruit is used as a muscle relaxant to aid in the recovery of illness or injury by shocking the nerves. However, I believe you will not find its effects so sleep inducing when it is being used on more _sensitive_ areas.”

With that Spock dips his index and middle in the bottle and runs them down Jim’s shaft. Arousal in an instant, and Jim’s hips twitch up. He feels suddenly on fire, but he’s mostly sure that has more to do with Spock’s hands than the Ly’trilem juice.

Spock looks terribly smug.

To do away with that smugness he kisses him, hard and messy. A most effective strategy, if the green rod that stabs into his leg is anything to go by.

There’s barely a brush of skin between their crotches, but sparks prickle up into the base of his cock like a he’d stuck it in a socket. They swing in and out of each other, connected by the meshing lips and hands scraping over every inch of skin. Spock’s nails tighten into the flesh of Jim’s ass, teasing his balls with his middle finger.

“I wish to take you T’hy’la,” is spoken with a kiss under the curve of his ear.

It’s been too long since he’s had Spock with him like this, and the low scratchy voice makes Jim’s already hard dick pulse almost painfully. A moan smooths out of him, bouncing off the glass shower walls. It’s chased by a growl and a scrape of teeth against his shoulder that makes Jim buck in Spock’s hold.

 

 

 

“Lie still, my Jim” Spock coats his hand in the Lytemera juice, then slides it over the walls of Jim’s ass, looping all too softly around his entrance.

Jim does a very poor job of lying still.

_Spock, do kindly stop torturing me._

_Negative, Captain._ Spock stretches him, tickling painfully slowly on the head of his cock at the same time. _I find there is a distinct enjoyment associated with watching you squirm._

_You are_ \- pant, gasp- _an asshole._

_No I am not, but am rather fond of yours._

It it’s impossible not to jerk when Spock slides inside of him. His double ridges sting when they grind into Jim after so much dissuse, but the Lytemera juice is slippery, and when Spock senses his discomfort he places his fingers on Jim’s meld points.

“I will not allow you to be in pain, you have suffered too much,” and the sting in sucked away through kisses and the pads of Spock’s fingers.

In its place is pleasure. Pure, deep pleasure that throbs from his head to his stomach to his cock. It spikes and swoops with Spock slipping in and out of him and the sound of their groans as they get lost in the steam.

The feeling climbs inside him until he can't feel anything besides it and the push and pull of Spock. It edges over the top, closer, closer.

And then they explode.

Through the ring of the white hot silence as they burst together into climax, Jim remembers the Enterprise with flames popping on its hull as it crashed into dust, exploding as they are now.

Never for a moment has he regretted sacrificing his ship, but coming with Spock inside his mind and body, it hits him how much worth it it was .

Consciousness flickers into a haze, and he’s distantly aware of his panting, the water rushing down his neck, and the press of Spock’s collarbone against his forehead over the pull of sleep. Spock muses his wet hair off his forhead and turns the shower handle, letting the water trickle off.

“My Ashayam,” Spock whispers, voice not quite even and sounding reverent, “Rest now.”

And Jim does.

 

…

“Queen’s bishop to G7.”

Jim is drowning in pillows, but he leans forward, lifting the chess piece, “Knight takes Queen’s bishop, level 2.”

 

 

 

“So, Spock,” Jim says while Spock scrutinizes the board in a manner that Jim has privately dubbed ‘The Vulcan Death Stare of Doom and Other Things That Have a Tendency to Get You Nerve Pinched.”

“Pawn intercepts. Yes Jim?”

“We have two and a half days until we reach Earth,” Jim says, his little stone horse hovering over the board, “Knight to G3.”

The black slash of Spock’s eyebrow tweaks up, “I am well aware of this. Rook takes knight.”

“Pawn to G7, level 1. I was thinking…”

“That is a consistently dangerous endeavor. Knight takes pawn.”

“Funny,” Jim shuffles against the blankets, twirling a chess piece between his fingers, “I was thinking, I’m mostly recovered, it’s about time I start taking bridge shifts again. I mean, there are so few of us, and we need to start making preparations for briefing…”

“Jim, doctor McCoy has not given you permission to be on active duty until tomorrow.”

“So let’s get permission! I can’t just sit here twiddling my thumbs while everyone else is on that bridge working, knowing full well that once we get to earth they might lose their jobs-”

“Jim-”

“-Hell Spock, I might lose my job, and I don’t regret it, but I’ll just be you’re useless human bondmate-”

“Jim-”

“-And all of the others could become criminals and it would be my fault. It would be bad for you too, I need to start helping, Spock. Maybe there’s something I can-”

“ _Jim_.”

Jim stops babbling, half because his husband’s tone is hitting red flag areas, and half because he made eye contact and Spock’s looking less logical Vulcan and more annoyed desert warrior.

“As for the charges against you and the others, you need not worry. I have a plan.” Spock leans forward to cup Jim’s check and run a thumb over his eyebrow, “Nyota, Sulu, Chekov, Mr. Scott and our good Dr. McCoy went with you to the genesis planet, with full understanding of the consequences the trip could have, by their own volition. You are not responsible. In regards to your terribly illogical comments on your usefulness…”

The hand on his cheek tilts his head up.

“You, James T. Kirk, could never be useless.”

Jim smiles in a way that very much resembles custard cream mush and closes the distance between them.

 

 

 

The kiss isn’t long, but it makes something warm jump in his gut. 

“Thank you, love,” he breathes as he pulls back, “Oh and Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Checkmate.”

 

…

 

When he enters the bridge the next morning, for some strange reason his heart is beating like humming bird wings and his there’s sweat scattered in beads on his palms.

But the nervousness vanishes when Spock swivels in his science station chair and grants his bondmate an impressively large smile. Well, large by Spock standards, anyways.

Before he can announce his presence, he’s startled with an armful of Nyota, who hugs him with surprising strength.

“We missed you, Captain,” she squeezes him and pulls back, returning to her station, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’re glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yes Admiral, we were wery worried,” says Chekov. A beaming Sulu nods in agreement.

Jim clears his throats in a way he hopes is subtle, “I’m fine now, I've got Bones’ seal of approval and everything. Thank you all.”

“Aye, it wasn’t quite the same nae havin’ you bossing us around and abusing my poor wee engines, sir.” Scotty laughs, patting him on the back so hard he chokes slightly.

Jim strides to the Captain’s chair, noticing that the cool metal doesn't feel cold in the slightest as he crosses his legs. He’s almost positive he’s glowing.

“Why Jim,” Bones comes up to stand beside him, smirking, “I haven’t seen you look this good in months.”

Gillian’s eyes pop wide when she looks up from where she’s bent over a clipboard.

“I’d say you were a new man,” she says with whistle.

“Not new,” Spock corrects, “But perhaps, Ashayam, renewed.”

The noise Nyota makes can only be described as squeeing.

“Mr.Spock, Jim, that’s wonderful! I was wondering how long it would take for two to get things sorted.”

“Ashayam?” Gillian asks, toying with the sound, “What does that mean?”

Jim watches stars flick by in white whirls on the view screen. He darts a look to Spock then turns back, grinning.

“Oh, it’s just a handful of syllables.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hoped you all liked it! Reviews and those good souls who press the Kudos button get chocolate milk.
> 
> Also first sex scene I've ever written so, any feedback is love.
> 
> (this story is one massive plot hole and i just relized that a week ago. Wow. They are on earth when a voyage home ends. How did i miss that. How. What the fuck.)


End file.
